Sudden Death: A Zombie Novel

by James Carlson

  Kneeling over her was Raj. He too was drenched in blood, but as he couldn’t see any obvious wounds on the man, Mike guessed it belonged to Kate. He was sure though that Raj wasn’t capable of something as horrible as this. They must have been attacked by a burglar or something.

  Mike felt himself shaking and his legs were becoming weak. All he wanted to do was turn and run back to his house.

  “Shit, Raj, what’s happened, mate?” he demanded. “Who did this?”

  Raj ignored him and continued to stare down at Kate, hunched over her twitching body.

  “Raj, get out the way. I know CPR,” Mike said, growing a little bolder and stepping into the house.

  Raj didn’t move and so Mike put a hand on his shoulder to pull him back. His neighbour at last responded to his presence and looked up at him. The lower part of his face was smeared with blood and a chunk of mammary tissue was hanging from his open mouth.

  “Holy fuck,” Mike yelped.

  Raj’s stomach was stuffed solid. He was literally unable to swallow another bite, as the meat he still held in his teeth proved. His overwhelming hunger had abated for the moment. Nonetheless, animal instinct told him he could not allow the man standing over him to steal his kill.

  Before Mike had the chance to stagger back, Raj lunged at him with an almost cobra-like strike. From his kneeling position, he bit the standing man hard on the inner thigh, catching the head of his penis too, in his jaws.

  Mike’s scream was just as shrill as Kate’s had been. The feel of Raj’s teeth slicing through the sensitive tip of his penis released a fire in the pain receptors of his brain, the likes of which, he had never felt before. With a blinding rapidity, Mike beat Raj in the head again and again. Though he was a heavyset man, two hundred and twenty pounds at least, and knew how to throw a solid punch, his blows had no affect whatsoever on Raj’s attack. Eventually, Raj pulled back, snarling, and crouched again over Kate defensively.

  Through the throbbing agony, Mike could feel that the end of his penis was hanging on by little more than a thread. The shock of this realisation, and the ruptured muscles of his inner thigh, caused him to drop to the ground.

  Despite having lost the use of his legs, Mike, whimpering in panic and pain, dragged himself out of the house. He was unaware of the lights coming on in the upper windows of the houses all around and curtains twitching, as he dragged himself over the two-foot high hedge and back into his own house, leaving a coursing trail of blood to mark his path.

  Beginning to hyperventilate, he reached into his jeans pocket with a badly shaking hand and pulled out his phone. He pressed the redial button and struggled even to hold it to his ear, as he felt rapidly weaker.

  “Which service do you require?”

  Before he was able to speak, Mike dropped the phone and lost consciousness. His fate had been sealed the moment Raj’s incisors had bit through his femoral artery.

  “CAD message received,” said the voice of the computer in the police car, alerting the officers that they had been assigned to a call.

  “Seriously? Are we the only car on tonight?” John said, gripping the steering wheel harder in frustration.

  It was getting towards the end of the shift and they had just parked up in the back yard of the nick, in order to come in and put on the four reports they had between them. They had been so busy from the start that they hadn’t even had chance to grab a bite to eat, and John’s hunger was now making him grumpy.

  “What is it?” he asked Sheena.

  “Er, ‘I’ grade domestic,” she replied, scanning over the text on the screen.

  John’s grip tightened even more. Domestics were grief. You had to do a paper 124D, as well as a computer CRIS report. If there were any kids in the relationship, it meant a MERLIN report as well. On top of all that, the Met’s ‘positive action’ policy for all domestics meant that if there were any offences at all, no matter how slight, someone would have to be nicked. They were going to be off well late now, he realised testily, which probably meant he wouldn’t get much sleep at all before he had to get the kid’s up and to school in the morning.

  “Hang on,” Sheena said. “It’s a third party report. The neighbour’s the informant. He heard screaming from next door.”

  Well, that was one thing at least. Since it hadn’t been either party in the relationship that had called the police, there might not be any allegations. They might be able to square it up, John thought hopefully.

  “John Boy,” someone called across the yard.

  John looked over his shoulder and groaned as he saw two officers walking over towards his car. It was Mark Thomas and Charandeep Choudry, aka Bob, from team three. They were waiting to start their shift and were loitering in the yard. John had no doubt they were coming over to try to wind him up, as they often did.

  “Sorry lads, we’ve got an ‘I’ grade,” he said curtly.

  “You’re a dark horse, John,” Bob commented, ignoring him and shaking his head.

  “Why?” John sighed, preparing himself for the inevitable sarcasm to come.

  “Every time I see you, you’ve always got one of the young, fit, new girls as your operator. How do you manage it?” Bob commented, with a smirk at Mark.

  “Hey, Sheena,” Mark said, bending down to check her out through the car window.

  “Hi, guys,” Sheena responded.

  “So, what’s the going rate to bribe the Skipper doing the postings?” Bob followed up.

  “I go out with whoever I’m told to,” John responded, desperately trying not to lose his temper at their insinuations.

  It was ironic, he thought, that these two men, who were notorious for preying on new female officers at team drinks, should be implying that he, as a happily married man, was doing things he shouldn’t . He knew that if he bit though, their jibes would only get worse.

  “Does your missus know about all this?” Mark asked.

  “I’d love to stay and chat with you guys, but I’ve got work to do. You should try it some time,” John told them with acidity.

  “Oooh,” Bob responded, feigning being hurt.

  “Sheena,” Mark said, “what’s it like being out with Mr Tickle hands?”

  “Fuck off,” John said, feeling himself flush with anger, as he drove away.

  Hearing the raucous laughter of the two coppers and knowing that he had given them exactly the response they had been hoping for, only made him angrier with himself.

  “Don’t listen to them,” Sheena said soothingly. “They’re idiots.”

  “Where am I going?” John asked, hitting the button on the dash that activated the blue lights.

  “Shirwell Close. Just head for Mill Hill and I’ll guide you in.”

  The pulsing blue lights reflected off the cars and house windows, as the police car sped out of the yard and through the streets. There was no need for sirens, as there were virtually no other cars on the roads at this quiet time of night.

  “You shouldn’t let those guys bother you,” Sheena said. “Karen’s the same as you. She let’s people get under her skin too much.”

  “Who’s Karen?” John asked.

  “My girlfriend. She’s a Skipper over at Kilburn.”

  “Your...? Oh, I didn’t realise…” John stammered, looking across at his operator with new eyes.

  Sheena smiled back, amused by his reaction.

  “Is it common knowledge?” John asked, trying to think of anything to say.

  “Not at work, no. Not yet,” the woman replied, “but I guess I’ve got to come out some time.”

  John nodded. “There’s no secrets in this job, that’s for sure.”

  Now it was Sheena’s turn to nod. Karen had tried to keep her personal life a secret from her colleagues, but in the end, they found out and because they knew she was so sensitive about it, they took the piss mercilessly. Sheena was sure that if she’d just been open from the beginning, there wouldn’t have been an issue. As it stood though, Karen was in the middle of p
ursuing an allegation of bullying in the workplace. Because she had gone to the Department of Police Standards about some of her colleagues, people now tended to go quiet whenever she walked into a room. Karen seemed miserable all the time, no matter what Sheena did to try and cheer her up, and she was thinking of switching boroughs to come and work over here at SX.

  “You know what really winds me up?” John said rhetorically, trying to change the subject by thinking about the call they were heading to. “People expect us to turn up and in just a few minutes, sort out the marriages they’ve let fall apart over years.”

  Sheena didn’t reply. She didn’t have even a quarter of the service John did and the job hadn’t yet made her quite so bitter.

  “Sierra X-ray Two One receiving?” the personal radios attached to their stab-proof met-vests blurted out.

  “They’re calling us,” John prompted Sheena when she failed to respond. He sighed to himself. Listening to your PR was a basic skill she hadn’t even grasped yet.

  “Sorry,” she said to her driver, then pressed the talk button on her radio. “Calling Two One?”

  “We’ve just sent an ‘I’ grade domestic through to your box,” the despatch operator at the Command and Control Centre in Hendon informed them.

  “Yeah, I know,” John replied. “Thanks.”

  “Sorry, but you’re the only unit shown available,” the man on the radio continued. “We’ve had a second call from the informant. Just an open line this time. No sounds of disturbance heard.”

  “Received,” Sheena replied into her radio.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” John grumbled.

  “Sierra X-ray from Two Four,” another voice now said over the radio. “Show us assigned as well. We’ll back them up.”

  “Cheers, Spence,” John transmitted in response.

  “Go straight over onto Pursley Road,” Sheena instructed him, using the map on the computer screen, as they approached a double mini-roundabout.

  “X-ray, have IBO done checks on the address?” John asked into his radio now.

  “Yes,” came the disembodied reply after a brief pause, while the CCC operator read the CAD. “No previous for domestics at the victim’s address. Nothing comes back on the address at all. However, there is one previous on the informant’s address; a domestic common assault from a month ago.”

  “Third left after the bridge,” Sheena said.

  She braced herself by digging her feet into the foot well and taking hold of the handle above her door, as the hump of the bridge ahead rapidly drew nearer.

  John paid little regard to the ‘slow’ markings written in the road. The road was a thirty limit but he’d done enough blue light runs on this route to be confident enough to take the bridge at sixty. As they hit the apex, the two front wheels of the car left the ground. Sheena felt her stomach turn over and she held her breath. The tyres reconnected with the tarmac with a heavy thump, as the axle bottomed out on the suspension.

  John glanced at Sheena’s reaction, laughing a little. He then looked at the IDR button on the dash, checking to see if the light was flashing and that he hadn’t activated the black box in the boot. Thankfully, the little light wasn’t illuminated and he wouldn’t have to explain himself to a Traffic Sergeant.

  “Sierra X-ray Two One receiving?” the radio said again, as John swung a hard left, almost causing Sheena to slide over and join him in the driver’s seat.

  “Go ahead,” Sheena responded, desperately trying to sound calm.

  “We’re getting more calls coming in now from other neighbours. Sounds of screaming again. One informant says they saw an injured man come crawling out of number nine.”

  “Show Sierra X-ray Eight Six as well,” another voice said over the radio. “Running from North Finchley.”

  John turned into Shirwell Close with a screech.

  “Nice bit of Hollywood tyres,” he said, with a smile at Sheena.

  “Number nine is just here on the left,” Sheena said.

  “X-ray, show Two One on scene,” John said, as he brought the car to a sudden stop and climbed out.

  Glancing around, he saw that a lot of the houses had lights on inside, which was unusual for one o’clock in the morning. A few of the doors were open too, with the residents standing on their doorsteps, observing the arrival of the officers.

  “Over there, mate,” a man said from his doorway across the street, pointing at number nine. “The screams came from that house, but I saw a man crawl through the door of the house next door.”

  The doors to both premises were ajar, and as though to confirm what the man was saying, there was a dark trail of some still wet fluid across the lawns between the two premises.

  “Did you see what happened?” John shouted over to the man.

  “Nah, no idea.”

  “Okay, cheers. Stay in your house.”

  John and Sheena walked up the path to number nine, stopping briefly and stooping to look at the thick trail of glistening fluid, which looked almost black in this low light. There were no sounds coming from either of the two addresses.

  “Is that blood?” Sheena asked.

  “Shit, draw your ASP,” John said, as he was already pulling his own baton from its pouch on his belt and wracking it, to extend it to its full length.

  “Sierra X-ray from Two One,” he said hurriedly, pressing the talk button of his radio. “We’re got a trail of blood here between houses nine and seven. Can you get LAS running and can I have an ETA for the other units?”

  “Received. Two Four and Eight Six, how far off are you?”

  “Eight Six are Nether Street now.”

  “Two Four are two minutes away.”

  John looked at Sheena, who was still staring wide eyed at the trail of blood.

  “Draw your bloody ASP,” he shouted at her over the sudden chatter on the radio.

  Snapping out of her horrified stare, she instead went for her CS spray. Being weaker in a fight than most male coppers, she felt more secure using the spray than the baton. On the one occasion, she had cause to hit anyone with her ASP, it had seemed to have little effect. The blinding, choking spray proved to have much better results, reducing most people to a coughing mess in seconds. The jet of fluid had a reach of several metres, which meant that the CS had the additional advantage of allowing her to keep a greater distance between her and an assailant than if she were using her baton.

  Seeing the canister in her hand, John shook his head. He hated CS. It affected him badly, and the fact that he wore contact lenses made the blinding effect even worse, as the microscopic crystals of the spray quickly corroded the film on his eyes.

  “Three One Two receiving, Three Three?” the radio blurted out. It was a Sergeant calling John directly by his individual shoulder number.

  “Go on, Sarge’,” he responded.

  “Hold back until the other units get there,” the Skipper told him.

  Just as the Sergeant was saying this, John glimpsed a blood-soaked arm on the floor just inside the open door of number nine.

  “Stand by, Sarge’. I think I’ve got a casualty,” he said over the radio.

  He would have loved to have hung back and waited for the other units to arrive, but with an injured person in front of him, he had little choice. Striding up to the door, he pushed it open, Sheena standing behind him, peering nervously over his shoulder.

  “Christ,” John gasped.

  “Shit in hell,” Sheena agreed.

  The female officer ducked past John, where he stood in the doorway and she knelt in the pool of blood beside the prostrate woman, immediately checking for signs of life.

  “Police! If there’s anyone in here, show yourself,” John shouted into the house, trying to sound as manly as he could.

  “Sierra X-ray, have we got an ETA for LAS yet?” Sheena asked shakily into her radio.

  “An ambulance is en route to you but they haven’t given an ETA,” the CCC operator responded. “What have you got there?”
>
  “A female lying on the floor, covered in blood, with a serious chest wound,” Sheena advised, desperately trying to remember what she had been told in training about the information she needed to give. “Apparent age, thirty years. Unconscious. Not breathing.”

  John craned his neck, trying to see as much as he could through the open doorways into the ground floor rooms, without taking another step further inside the address. There were no signs of movement, no sounds.

  “What’s happening, mate?” said a voice from directly behind him.

  “Jesus,” John said, almost jumping out of his skin.

  It was Spence and his operator, Danny, who had just arrived on scene. Spence leant forward and looked around John, down at the woman on the floor.

  “Shit, she’s had her soddin’ tits ripped off,” he said, reeling back in shock. “Is she dead? Where’s the suspect?”

  “Dunno,” was all John could say.

  “X-ray, get TSG running,” Spence called up. “We’ve got an armed suspect unaccounted for.”

  The Territorial Support Group was a unit specifically trained to deal with violent people. Pretty much all they did was drive around in carriers, waiting for something to kick off.

  “Go check next door,” John told Spence. “There’s a trail of blood leading into the house. There’s possibly another victim inside.”

  “Okay,” Spence replied, running across the lawn, with Danny behind him.

  “And be careful,” John shouted after him.

  “Three One Two, what have you got?” The radio said. It was the Skipper again, demanding an update.

  John didn’t respond. At the end of the hallway, from a door to the right, a man stepped into view, his face and hands drenched in blood.

  “Get on the ground. Now!” John shouted at him, brandishing his baton.

  Raj didn’t respond. He simply stared back with an empty gaze for a few seconds. Then his lips curled in a snarl and he took a step forward.

  “Get back. Get down on the ground. I don’t want to have to hurt you,” John said now, trying to reason with him.

  Blood and drool dripped from the clearly insane man’s chin, as he now looked at the woman on the floor.